


The Message Man

by peterpuppieparker



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blurryface Era, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gore, Insomnia, M/M, Mentions Of Blurryface, Mentions of Murder, cryptic notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpuppieparker/pseuds/peterpuppieparker
Summary: I didn’t mean to kill her.I really didn’t.I wasn’t even the one who killed her.It was them.The voices whispering in the dark, the monsters under my bed.They got in my head, told me things, made me do things.As I stand here in the dark typing you this message on my phone, I can hear them scrabbling at the edges of my brain.Telling me to do things.Bad things.They’re in the house now, gathering and...creeping up the stairs.I know you won’t believe me.My mind is beginning to fog.I’m going to have to kill again.~A cryptic note, a tired cop, an elusive murderer.
Relationships: Jenna Black/Debby Ryan (Implied), Josh Dun & Debby Ryan, Josh Dun & Tyler Joseph
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	The Message Man

I didn’t mean to kill her.  
I really didn’t.  
I wasn’t even the one who killed her.  
It was them.  
The voices whispering in the dark, the monsters under my bed.  
They got in my head, told me things, made me do things.  
As I stand here in the dark typing you this message on my phone, I can hear them scrabbling at the edges of my brain.  
Telling me to do things.  
Bad things.  
They’re in the house now, gathering and...creeping up the stairs.  
I know you won’t believe me.  
My mind is beginning to fog.  
I’m going to have to kill again. 

Joshua Wright kept his mouth in a tight purse line, as he looked at the police report. The note was creepy and concerning to say the least. He could just see the mess it would cause in the morning. The angry mothers on facebook. The terrified whispers on the street. He just hoped the case didn’t go cold like the last one.  
Lauray, the girl who was killed, had had it all: the looks, the smarts, and the friends. Lauray was the captain of the cheerleading team, everyone’s friend and favorite person. Joshua could see the headlines for tomorrow’s paper now in his head.  
His mind flashed to crazed, jealous girls. Joshua had been on cases like this before in his old town. Rachel Brooke had killed seven girls at a sleepover, just because they all liked the same boy. Emily Johnson had committed a murder-suicide because her boyfriend wouldn’t marry. But this didn’t feel like that. This one was...different, more careful. There were no crazed stab wounds, no clear signs of struggle.  
It was obvious. This was not the first time whoever did this had Joshua Wright was completely and utterly stumped. He had been working on this specific case for the past forty-eight hours and had read the note at least one-hundred-and-twenty-seven times. (Yes, he counted) Then again why wouldn’t he have? It gave him something else to do besides this stupid case! He thanked Debby with an appreciative, yet tight lipped smile after she placed another cup of coffee on his desk. His very messy desk. No one, not even Josh knew how it managed to get messy so quickly. Overworking? No. Procrastination? Definitely not! Making excessive notes to stall time to hide from his boss? Maybe. A magic troll hiding under his desk and brainwashing him? Now that’s and idea the man can get behind...and when he realized he was on his fifty-ith cup of coffee. 

Debby—his assistant and the poor woman who to make all his copious amounts of coffee—smiled her sympathetic smile at him after his shaky hands spilt coffee all over his two-day-creased dress pants. “Fuck!” Josh cursed. She raised a brow him, before shaking her head lightly and walking away. 

After giving himself a once over, Josh realized how much of a mess he was. He needed water, a shower, and most of all a break. But was Josh actually going to do that or any other form of self-care? No. He just continued on analyzing and re-analyzing the miniscule amount of evidence he had, over, and over, and over again. After yet another grueling hour of working on the case, he checked the time; it was three-am. He got up on shaky legs, grabbed his jacket and started on his trek home.

Josh’s journey home was interesting to say the least. Well it always was due to the fact that he lived in the part of San Fran that was not quite city, but not quite suburbs. But this time it just seemed different, off. And it’s not like Josh didn’t know he was paranoid. He knew it. He owned up to it. He let the guys call him Scaredy-Wright. But he was always the one getting them out of tough situations. Either way, the streets seemed distinctly spookier.  
Josh cursed loudly. “What the fuck? Am I in some form of horror movie?” He muttered under his breath to himself, and adjusted his bomber jacket. Josh knew was actually done for if there was anyone. His uniform was in his bag and he was in an old Rolling Stones T-shirt and Levis jeans. Josh’s skin crawled as he felt two eyes burning into the back of his skull and heard shuffling behind him. Josh’s hand flash to his holster and he whipped around holding it with caffeine driven shaky hands. No one was there. Debby was right. He was actually crazy. He needed a hot shower, some Taco Bell and probably a therapist. Then—because the universe apparently hated him—out of the corner of his eye his saw a flash of brown hair . 

Josh chased the patch of mousey brown hair through back alleys and streets he’d never seen before. He followed him through side streets he didn’t know the names of, and short cuts he didn’t even know existed. This game of chase came to a stuttering halt at the bus stop on the complete opposite side of town. The ‘patch’--as an incredibly sleep-deprived Josh had been calling him- had turned out to be a scrawny, boney, teenage kid (or just teenage looking, Josh was too tired to care) that looked roughly sixteen to seventeen years old. He -unlike Josh who taller and stockier- was short and thin, with a fluff of mousey brown hair sitting a top his head, and the hair on the sides shaved. Patchy wore ripped black skinny jeans and grey Blink 182 t-shirt with tattered, beat up, off-white,almost grey converse. An equally worn, thick, old, ripped flannel. Between that and the kid’s sunken face, (hollow out cheek bones, thin neck, sunken eyes) eye bag clad face he looked like a mess. Josh had him by the shoulder in an iron grip. Patchy’s eyes were wide and horrified. His right hand slid his gun back into his “What the fuck do you think you’re doing kid?!” His (patchy’s) face shifted from scared to awkward, to surprised. “Why would y0u run away from a cop? You do realize I thought you were a theif or something right? Jesus.” Josh let a out a groaning sigh. He gave him a once over again. The kid’s mouth opened, and a wave of the smell of bad breath came over Josh’s senses he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He didn’t know if it was the coffee or the sleep deprivation, but something made Josh make this kid his charity case for that night.  
~

Joshua Wright didn’t know how long he’d been in Walgreens with Patchy. Nor did he know why he was even doing this. He guessed being sleep deprived made everyone do weird stuff; including him. Not matter how tired and weary Josh was he still kept tabs on the kid. It was honestly Josh just trying to keep himself awake. Although the obviously-just-turned-twenty one cashier who looked like he’d rather be doing anything else--at what Josh assumed was one in the morning by now--seemed to glare at him slightly less. Seriously though. What was that guys problem? Then, for the second time in the past two hours Josh stopped to actually think and realized how crazy he must look. And how weird of a person he was compare to everyone's Perfect-America-Dream definition of normalcy. At this point,while he was thinking sleep-deprived thoughts (that his sleep paralysis demon would probably laugh at), he was standing outside the bathroom as patchy brushed his teeth. Again, how did he get to this point? Honestly, with those fifty cups of coffee in him he was mostly at the hospital due to heart palpitations and just hallucinating right now. Josh peaked his head into the bathroom and walked in completely. “You done yet?” He called out A quiet, awkward, “Yeah..” came from the person who was basically hiding in the stall. This situation was weird. And with every passing, midnight-hour-minute, it was just getting weirder or weirder. Josh just kept keeping on and rolled with the punches.  
“What’s your name anyway?” He asked leaning against the sink, in the typical dude-leaning-against-the-sink position. 

“Elliot.” the kid--Josh didn’t really know how old he was, but he assumed that he was younger than him--responded. Something definitely felt off about ‘Elliot’ in general, but the way the kid softly spoke what was apparently his name left a sour taste in Josh’s mouth. He ignored it.  
~  
After what seemed like forever they finally left the walgreens. The newly dubbed ‘Elliot’ carried a bag of supplies (tooth brush, shampoo, socks, change of clothes, etc) Josh had forgotten to ask if he was homeless. Even if he wasn’t Josh didn’t care at this point. He was too far in already and this night had already gotten totally weird. He was supposed to be passed out right now on his bed! Or sitting on his couch drinking yet another cup of coffee and watching the X-files. 

Josh sighed for the fiftieth time that night after they left the pancake house. He turned around to send the kid off, but he was already gone. A small note on the ground said. “Thanks! :)” Huh. This kid’s handwriting looked familia the one he had been agonizing over for the past few days. He just shook his head, and stuffed the note in his pocket whilst he continued his walk home... 

It took him a couple of minutes to figure out why. It looked familiar because he’d read a note written in it over 235 times in the past 26 hours. Josh just sighed. Yes. He did realize he just had a run in with the killer he was going after and bought him waffles. But did he care? At the moment, not really. That would be a morning Josh problem. Josh just flopped on his bed once inside and went to sleep. His last thought from that weird night was, Wow. My nonexistent therapist would be weirded out by this story. 

Unbeknownst to the tired sleeping cop, the back of the note said. “They like you. See you soon! :)”


End file.
